A Song of Kinship and Kingship
by Japkot
Summary: The tale of Cedran Baratheon...
1. AGOT: Prologue

Bells chimed in Kings's Landing, their somber tone carrying a foreboding sign...

The smallfolk paid none more than a brief moment of attention to the chimes, for they did not know why it mattered, nor would they care that much when they learned it. Their opinions didn't matter though, for they were insignificant, mattering for very little, often ignored, poor, dirty, illiterate, inbred, the very definition of filth personified in human form...

They didn't know that they should be paying their respects to the Late Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. A man who had saved them all by raising the man who would one day be their King, Robert Baratheon, who had rid the world of the reign of the Mad King, Aerys II. A man so vle that he would stand idle and do nothing as the Lannister Soldiers razed his city to the ground.

Did not do a whole lot did he?

Jon Arryn was a man overshadowed by people.

Who could blame the smallfolk for not caring when he didn't?

Cedran Baratheon looked on as Jon Arryn's body was given its last rites beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne. Mostly an empty room due to the death being sudden and without warning. A fever that ate him away in less then a week's end and took him apart faster than a Lion that ravaged it's prey. He imagined people would be very annoyed with this turn of events, for they would not be able to push their 'great' achievements in the King's face and off-handedly suggest that they be made Hand of the King...

As one could gather, the Prince's eyes were looking, but they were not focused, for his mind was on something else entirely, as was the case with his elder brother to his right. In fact, the only ones actually sad about this little turn of events were their father the King, standing in front of them, and Tommen and Myrcella, to Cedran's left. One side because the late Hand was his mentor, two because they were kind-hearted people, which could not be said for either of the elders.

Although Joffrey, their eldest sibling had not cared for the man in the slightest, having been exposed to their Mother's side of the family more than he was of their fathers, it was a much more different tale for Cedran, as from the moment he could talk, he idolized his father, not a day passed where he would not take his leading-example and vy for his attention and become his favorite child out of all the four in the end, a fact that none could challenge, for he had spoiled him rotten. Some even said he wanted him to be his sucessor instead of his firstborn, he had been with Jon Arryn a lot, the man had seen him grow from a child to a man...

As to why he was not saddened by his death, for the late Lord Arryn was his father's mentor, and his father loved the man like he was his own father. It was complicated, for he was plauged with mood-swings everyday, and there was something different every day. An order here, a forbidden action there, something to drive him away from his father because he was a bad influence there. Also he'd go against his pride to the point where he would lash out, (He even called him a narcissist! How dare he?! Old cunt.) The man had gone against him too much for him to even relatively care about his life.

He was getting worse just before his dying days as well. How often had he spotted him studying his face with a strange look upon his face, like he was assessing a cattle that was to be slaughtered within the fortnight.

He guessed that he was thinking marriage, as Cedran was a handsome man after all, his mother was prone to say that in rare occasions, practically a spitting image of his youth his father said too, with his flowing black hair with a blonde streak, (a tribute to his mother's house) lightning blue eyes, tall and lean stature. And not to stop there, the signature chiseled cheekbones of his mother's family, as well as her eye shape. But the thing was Jon Arryn neither had a daughter Cedran could marry with, (even if he would accept) or a higher title to gain because he was the Hand of the King already...

But now all of it was pointless, Jon Arryn was dead, his father had ordered for the whole court to prepare for a move to Winterfell, making it quite clear as to who would be getting that promotion, Eddard Stark, the Lord Paramount of the North, a frozen wasteland that was as big as the entire Southern Kingdoms combined, also his father's best friend, and by the Kings own words, the only man whom he trusted...

Now that stung, for it was clear that his father hadn't even been considering him for the role, despite him saying that he was more capable than the entire small council combined, despite Cedran forging himself in his image just so he could be the man his father wanted him to be, despite being ready, he was being looked over in favor of a fucking Northener whose sister his father wanted but couldn't get because he'd lost her to some Targaryen.

He ran a hand over the streak on his hair in frustration, -absent-mindedly noticing the dye fading away,- as was the case with most of the times when his father was the one causing the said frustration. Bad enough that he was stuck as the second son when he was clearly the better prince, (in every possible strech of the imagination) now he was being denied his only chance to make a name for himself!

That made him angry...

He buried that anger deep, for it would cost him a head to speak of them out here, with his brother, his _oh so beloved_ brother next to him, already looking down at him in the usual snobby way of his, easy to do since he had a foot of length on Cedran, having noticed his frustration. He couldn't trust any of these people, they weren't Arn and Sal.

He buried that anger deep, for he had plans, and he needed to be cool-headed...

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 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	2. AGOT: Cedran I

Prince Cedran cursed as another wave of chilling wind hit him square on, clutching tighter to the thick cloak that hung from his body in an effort to battle the colds of the unforgiving North.

"Are you cold my Prince?" Salomon Storm, his sworn shield and mentor of many years, asked, his voice stoic as it often was, "Perhaps-" The Prince cut him off before he could say anything, already knowing what he would suggest.

"Bugger that," He said, "As soon as I enter that carriage, my father would get word of it and I wouldn't hear the end of it," Cedran said to his mentor, before falling to silence once again, riding beside each other as more cold winds assaulted them, although something was missing, "Where is Arn?" He asked, although he was certain he already knew the answer...

"He is with his... Companion," The prince snorted, ignoring Sal's obvious dissaproval. Lucky fucker, he could not even look at anyone, lest his mother found out and tried to ruin his fun as she so often did, which was a shame since one of the Darry's had quite the interest in him, so much so that her rapid advances had even alerted his little brother Tommen, (he didn't know how it worked mind you, he was just startled by the girl's eagerness) another reason why his mother was so watchful over his potentially fruitful activities.

And partially because she thought he got it from his father, which was false mind you, he would be dead before he even thought of touching a whore, he had standards, and highborn bastards were more useful, should it come to that.

He sighed wistfully, thinking of the morning he might have had if not for all his mother's spies, or his cousins lechery, he could not blame Arn for it though, Cedran would have done the same in his stead, "This morning just became a bit more boring," He said sulkingly, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself.

"As you say, Your Highness," His tone did not betray a reaction against the harshness of his words, and he was unreadable as one could ever be. They rode in pace with the Kings Procession. The King roaring orders, the Queen's carriage (filled with 3 fourths of her litter) creaking over every small rock it went over.

They traveled in silence after his undoubtedly uncalled for words, but he knew Salomon wouldn't hold it against him, he'd been his mentor for about 6 years, not as much as his father, but certainly more than any other one his mother had forced upon him, he would attribute his mood-swings, which were common especially these past weeks because of the open road and how stressed he was under the watchful gaze of both his father and mother.

He'd not meant to be so harsh, but he wouldn't be sorry for his words were the truth. For all his wise mentoring and all the years of Loyal Service under his banner, Sal just could not offer the level of camradery that Arn offered, he was too stoic against their youthful energy, he was too faithful against their cynical upbringing, and he was too serious, while the two were anything but and his tendency to lecture his two younger students meant that there was always some rift he would not be able to fill.

He wasn't that pleasent to look at either, purely because he reminded him of both his Uncle Stannis, and his Grandfather Tywin, with harsh facial features, always slanted eyes that made men question if they were doing it on purpose or not, similar build, and a balding head, even though Sal was only 35. Thankfully he wasn't a bastard of either, since neither man would consider touching another woman, also his eyes were a commoner's brown, a trait descended unto him from his lowborn father. Not a tale he cared to know, since it was as interesting as the crease currently present on the man's forehead...

He sulked further as more hours passed without the slightest bit of an expected appearance on Arn's part, although it wasn't eventless as the Queen's carriage broke a wheel when it was trying to scale a particularly large rock, he heard screams and a roar as the whole Procession came to a full stop, he could hear his mothers screams mixed amongst his mothers, some Joffrey peppered along it as well.

How pleasent...

Although it had given him a chance, everyone was distracted, he quickly dismounted his black stallion and gave the reigns to Sal, who had done the same, "Find Arn, and meet me near father when we are ready to move out," He couldn't miss his chance, especially after he'd missed countless other when the same exact thing happened, that carriage was prone to breaking...

He made to leave, but Sal's voice stopped him, "Your mother won't be happy about this Cedran," He was using his name, that meant he was serious, although he couldn't care less, he needed to leave before the confusion wore off.

"She won't if she doesen't find out Sal, so you're not going to tell her," He said, tapping his foot on the hard soil beneath his feet as he waited for him to confirm his orders, and smirked when he sighed and nodded, with an expression on his face that told him that his Mentor would be praying forgiveness to the Seven for his soul, he would be wasting his breath, but he would let him have that.

He patted him on the shoulder in false reassurance, before turning around and heading for one of the countless ladies that chose to come with them to Winterfell, he knew their handmaidens to be susceptible to his charms, it would be an easy way to get a quick lay, and after that they would be on their way back to the Starks, although for his own sake, Cedran hoped Arn would be there once they got a move on...

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 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	3. AGOT: Arn I

Arn was late.

He'd tried to get a move on and finish quickly, but his... friend was being especially alluring, and finding the perfect place that hid their lecherous activities was such a blessing that Arn just had to spend the entire morning making love to his paramaor, (would she still a paramour if he was technically at a lower position in nobility than the girl, and it was a secret?) Cedran's sanity after a whole morning with Sal be damned.

Not like he needed to worry, He would forgive him anyway, The Prince couldn't resist the stories of succesful 'conquests', whether it be hearing them or sharing them, certainly a trait passed unto him from his father, as the numerous special occasions where he'd dined with his family, the King was prone to telling the entire table, while the Queen watched on with murder in her eyes, ushering the childeren out of the room whenever the King started it.

Might be why his cousin didn't want Cedran to bring him to family suppers anymore...

His thoughts were interrupted by some sounds next to him, shortly followed by another body pressing against his, he smirked as the woman he'd sacrificed his morning for opened her eyes and groggily looked at him with lidded eyes after her little nap following their activities, primarily the reason why he hadn't gone to seek out Cedran already, would be rude to leave a lady alone and bare, especially one so fair...

"Good morrow Lady Crakehall," He smirked, turning his clothed body to face her bare one, having wanted to elimenate the threat of any admittedly pleasent but time-consuming ideas Lady Elanor Crakehall might have had.

She looked dissapointed in his clothed state, but still smiled with the little sultry smile that got him chasing after her in the first place, "Good morrow to you as well Lord Lannister," Her voice sounded exactly like her smile, alluring him in a way that almost made him want to join her back in a state of unclothing, but he held himself, for Cedran's sake.

He sighed and ran a finger along her exposed belly, drawing circles and relishing how she shivered under his touch, "As much as I loathe to say it, our time together must come to an end," He said with a wistful tone.

She pouted, "This early?" Her tone was playful, although he could see that she agreed with him, having got up and started to put on her neatly disgarded clothes as he watched from where he was with a restrained gaze, still laying upon the wooden surface of the moving carriage they'd chosen to hide in. Quite the ingenious move on his part..

It offered privacy that one could never find unless they were to leave a moving procession, and both could understand that in their position, having known that, they had to be careful so as to only enter when the procession was moving, as this carriage was designed to preserve the quality of King Robert's finest wines, which he'd unearthed so as to keep him company during the hard journey North, since nothing else would.

But it seemed that he had _really_ forgot to keep track of time, as suddenly, the wooden surface beneath them shifted and wooden wheels creaked to a stop, almost knocking Elanor off balance while she was still in the process of clothing herself.

Once the confusion was over, he wasted no time rising to his feet, scurrying to help Elanor dress and make her presentable, because it could only mean Arn had forgetten the time so severly that it was afternoon already and the King was calling for a supper, and Cedran would be calling for his head for leaving him with Sal for that long, which meant if he had to hurry.

Once he was certain she was presentable, (He'd already made himself presentable,) he silently led her toward the door, cracking open the door to peer outside, gesturing for her to exit once he was really sure no one would spot them once they stepped outside, he followed after her after a moment's notice, closing the carriage door behind him, sighing in relief as he dusted himself off.

"Arn," He jumped as a voice all too familiar came out of nowhere, turning to see Sal with an all too familiar impression on his face, one he'd see often from his family, whether it be his brother, his father, every Lannister in general really, you could imagine he was getting numb to it.

"Sal," He said, casting him a curious glance, "Thought you'd be with Cedran," If he wasn't punishing him with spending the rest of the journey with Sal that is, that would be... Not good.

"His highness has requested me to find you," His dissaproving gaze seemed to be shifted, was it still for him, he couldn't tell with the old bastard sometimes.

So he inquired, "And where is his highness?"

"Where he wants to be, which is certainly not here, and you should know not to question his will Arn," He was being overly formal, even more so than usual, which could only mean one thing.

Well, who could blame him.

He decided it was high time his thoughts started going somewhere other than women, "How did you find me?" He said, leaning on the carriage as some servants passed by, seemingly in a hurry.

Sal did not break his stoic gaze, "I saw the carriage shaking when the Prince was yet to leave his father's side," That did make sense, since he'd left before Cedran could command him not to.

"Ah, good times,"

"You are besmirching the name of House Lannister with your actions Arn, when will you realize that?" He pretended not to hear him, he'd heard those words spoken many times, he was numb to it.

Yes he was a dissapointment, but last he remembered, he hadn't asked to be born as a member of the second most prestigious house in Westeros. With all the responsibility on the world bearing down upon you, along with a Lord that thought family legacy to be the most important thing on this world, so every member of his family should be perfect little represantations of his ideals and all.

Arn was not a good scion. Sure he looked the part, with the golden hair flowing until his shoulders, the 'Lannister Face' (The cheekbones, the chiseled chin, green eyes, you know the usual) being taller than most man, a lean build, with the only out of place things being a stubble on his face. But he sure didn't act the part, he admitted to being a lecher, a drunk, and a disrespectful sod. His primary weapon was a bow instead of the usual longsword, he disobeyed his father's orders all the time and perhaps the most blasphemous of all, he preffered the company of a Baratheon more than he would prefer any of theirs.

"You two!" His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he heard a voice, looking over to see that it belonged to one of the Kingsguard, "His grace requests wine for his early supper," His voice reeked of mocking.

"Find some servants to carry it then," Arn said before Sal could say anything, if this old bastard thought he would carry anything for him then he'd be dead wrong, this was one of the rare points where his disregard of orders aligned with his Houses agenda.

The Kingsguard looked like he was going to retaliate for a second, then he realized who he was speaking to, "Forgive me Lord Lannister, I didn't recognize it was you," he didn't seem that sorry, Arn imagined he only said those words because he'd known the two were the second Princes companions, "There is a shortage of servants, most of them are trying to help with the repair of the Queen's Carriage," So _that's_ why they'd stopped.

Sal, without a crack in his mask, said, "I'll assist good ser, we have business that side of the camp anyway," His tone had been altered to make the Kingsguard ask less questions, and since he was a bastard, the meek little offer legitimized it's geniueneness, even if it was coming from the mouth of Salomon Storm.

They both grabbed a barrel, while he refrained from touching one.

Soon after that they'd joined the King.

Soon after that Cedran joined them.

Soon aftter that, they were back on the road...

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 **Anyone is welcome to post any questions they might have in the reviews below.**


	4. AGOT: Sal I

Salomon Storm was rarely impressed.

It was because of his faith, for he had seen the greatest of miracles happen right before his very eyes and it had opened those eyes to how futile men's influnece was on this earth, and how quickly it would be forgetten once enough time had passed. It was the sad truth, he lived with it's weight, and without no one to share the same sentiment, it was a lone one...

But as he beheld Winterfell for the first time ever in his life, he could not help feeling the unfamiliar intake of awe, for one did not see structures that were as old as eight-thousand years, and said to have been built by help from the Giants and the greatest architect history had ever known, who also happened to be the progenitor of one of the great houses of Westeros, House Stark.

A huge castle, surrounded by two walls that were made from grey granite an ancient weirwood just peeking over the huge battlements, along with two keeps that towered above them both like they didn't need them, although one was much more worse for wear than the other, and also looked to be less impressive, while the other looked as if it still had its best years ahead of it.

They would be entering through the town, aptly named 'Winter Town'. Quite big, although nowhere near King's Landing, and from the looks of it, nowhere near the population of Flea Bottom alone.

He looked down and focused on the two in front of him, looked to be very relaxed now that they had each completed their lecherous activities and seemed to have gone off the hook without any sort of repercussions, he made a mental note to give the two _supposed_ adults a hefty book depicting every verse of the _Seven-Pointed Star_ in painstaking detail, maybe they would learn there was more to life than.

Well... _Life._

The Prince was a cyncial person, a sinner, and while it would be very hard at his age for him to understand the warmth in the Light of the Seven, he did not show signs of improving. His dalliances with noble girls were the talk of the court, he was too proud, too uncaring of the people that he classified as 'undeserving of attention' and his eyes glazed over whenever he was scolded about faith by Sal.

And with Arn, it was worse. They encouraged their bad habits whenever they were together, looking at their 'conquests' like it was something to be proud of.

Like now, both were talking about Cedran's most recent adventure.

 _Warrior grant him strength..._

Thankfully, he wouldn't have to but in. As a page in service of the King approached the Prince, bearing orders from the King. Cedran was to ride into the city at the head of the procession with the Crown Prince and his father the King, probably to show off his sons, Sal had heard Lord Stark had two daughters and with King Robert being very good friends with Lord Eddard, one could imagine his intent.

Robert Baratheon wasn't known for his subtlety.

All the court knew what he wanted to do already.

His attention was immediately focused on Cedran as he gestured at him, "Arn, you go and inform my brother, relieve this man of his duties," As was the usual, the King was not fond of the Lannister family, and the bastard mentor was only there because Lord Arryn had appointed him, Arn wouldn't receive a lot of scrutiny by his family (even though he deserved all of it) and Sal wouldn't be pushed in the Queen's face, might offend her grace and prompt her to replace him with somone of higher birth, and higher chance of being a spy...

Arn bowed and left, looking like he would rather do everything but that, Cersei Lannister was quite a picky woman when it came to her childeren's companions, meaning she would rather have her lackies follow them around rather than natural companions and competent protectors, one only needed to look at the state of the Kingsguard when asessing that statement, it had befallen to her to pick their members after 5 of the order had fallen in the rebellion, and if one realized there was really no love lost between the King and the Queen, they would realize who she had picked them for.

Arn may be a politically sound choice when it came to companions, but he didn't belong to her, he didn't belong to anyone really, he was a rogue, bound to the Prince because of the thrill of his companionship and like-minded goals during their youth years. He would have to endure her glares and her subtle suggestions to Cedran about picking his friends.

And Sal...

Well if the Queen saw Sal, she would see him as a bastard, a Stormlander, loyal to the Baratheons, mentored her son, would be able to give him orders in certain situations because he was Sal's ward. He would be better to just sit silent and pray that he gone unnoticed, if he could that is, Cedran needed him, even if he didn't seem to think so...

They silently approached the King on horseback, the once mighty man that had led his man against all odds against the dynasty that had conquered Westeros, now stood as a husk of what he was then. Due to excessive feasting and drinking that hadn't seemed to stop after the rebellion, he'd gotten fat, even growing a beard to hide his second chin. His face often red from drinking, dark circles underneath his eyes, and rode carefully to keep himself balanced on his poor horse, while sweating through his silks profusely even in the chilling weather of the North.

He acted like he was still that man though, joking and laughing along with whatever loyal men that had remained with him, swearing his tounge off and chasing after whores like he was a Hedge Knight in his twenties. A sad sight really, although one really couldn't say it to his face if they wanted to keep their head.

"Father," Cedran called as he rode beside him, Sal standing back and keeping his head down.

"Cedran, you're finally here, thought I'd have to sit here and listen to these fuckin' cunts forever," His voice was gravely, and he seemed joyful, "Where is your damn brother?! Is he still hiding beneath his mother's skirts?" Only Cedran chuckled along with his father, the Kingsguard were stone-faced.

"Sadly so father, I fear the North is too harsh for little Joff," The King guwaffed, and slapped his son on the shoulder, almost spooking his horse if not for the Prince controlling it, "I've sent one of my own to get him,"

"The Bastard?" The King hadn't looked back.

"The Lannister,"

Robert didn't seem very happy, but he nodded, "Aye, would take one of her kind to make her release her hold on the boy, smart thinking lad," One would thing it was quite more complicated than that, although Cedran could do no wrong in his father's eyes.

"Thank you father," Cedran bowed, his voice a little bit more cheerful when he spoke again, "You still haven't told me how Lord Eddard was like,"

"You'll see him soon enough," The King said, "Thou-"

The King cut himself off as he heard a group of galloping sounds behind them, turning around to see his firstborn, flanked by his Hound and Arn at the way back, coming beside Sal as Joffrey approached his father, his usual demeanour lost before the face of his father.

"About time you stopped cowering behind your mother's skirt boy," He growled, making the Crown Prince's eyes go downcast. The King did not thing highly of his firstborn, that much was evident. He mumbled some apology as the column entered Winter Town.

Formations were made, and people looked at them in awe as they passed, some even throwing flowers beneath the ground they traversed. With the King's attention on the women below, Joffrey and Cedran were free to bask in the attention, like it was a competition.

Maybe it was...

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 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	5. AGOT: Robb I

Robb would admit to being more than a bit vexed, waiting for the King and his sons to come with the entirety of Winterfell like they were sheep being herded, he kept his opinions to himself though, his father wouldn't like them and voicing opinions only ever got one in trouble anyway, he'd learned that when he'd voiced them against his mother's about Jon.

So he shut his mouth and straightened his shoulders, waiting like a good little lord in the mild weather as the first of the King's Procession entered through the gates, their colorful and detailed carriages looking very out of place within the grey and... mostly grey walls of Winterfell, fun to watch really.

He saw his father straighten, closest thing to craning his neck to look for his good friend the King, since doing that would be 'unlordly' but he could read his father easily, he was eager to see his friend. Robb was too, Robert Baratheon was the hero of many stories, the man who won three battles in one day, the Demon of the Trident, the Bane of Targaryens, who wouldn't be?

He sated his curiosity by turning his attention to the ones already there, and his eyes immediately focused on the golden armor of the Kingsguard, beneath Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself, looking everything but the vile man he was described to be, with his regal stance atop his horse, hand casually staying on his sword, and all that came with being a Kingsguard, he would admit his attention was fading alrady.

The hound was next on his list, the tall man almost dwarfed the carriage he was standing next to with the height he had with the horse he was riding, his helmet which he'd just opened did nothing to hide his burn marks, which became a subject of extreme curiosity upon seeing immediately. Curiosity was a deadly creature, especially when it was a man trained to kill things subjected to it.

So his attention drifted to the rest, right between them both to find two contrasting figures riding beside each other. One with golden hair, wearing a red riding tunic wih a golden lion on it beneath a thick black riding cloak. The other with black hair, wearing a black riding tunic with a golden stag on it while wearing the identical traveling cloak.

He assumed they were the eldest two Princes, currently freezing their arses off by the looks of it with how much they hugged their cloaks, which made him smirk.

That immediately turned into a glare when he spotted his sister and the blonde one sharing not-so-innocent looks.

The little shit better stay away from his sister!

He was distracted from the prince when he felt the subtle arm his father put on his elbow, signaling him to kneel as the King rode in, the whole household bowed as the King of Westeros marched through the doors of Winterfell...

Dissapointment was the only emotion he could describe at that moment, he'd (with admitable foolishness) imagined a 7ft man with the strength of ten men, but what the King was seemed just to be the gut of ten men. Crushing his horse under his fat and looking everything but the man in the stories as he got help from the stable hands to get off his horse.

His walk was something to behold as well, waddling toward his father while sweating profusely in his pretty clothes that barely fit him.

He bowed his head to conceal his emotions when the King stopped right in front of his father, hearing the squeaking of leather a second later before rising to his feet with the whole household after his father did.

As soon as he got to his feet he saw his father and the King locked in the most tense stare he'd ever seen. Both men looking like animals that were trying to gather the one last sliver of strength to make the killing blow to their mortal enemy, (he didn't know what it looked like, but Nan's stories at least gave him some ideas,) but it all dissolved when the King spoke...

"You've got fat."

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Robb sighed in relief when he was finally free of all the waiting around, having gotten bored immediately after the fascination that came with the Southron's arrival faded, The King had ordered his father to take him to the crypts, which gave him some free time to do whatever he could as long it didn't involve something that would jeopardize the relations of his house with... Other houses.

He'd used the opportunity to head down to the Great Hall, where he would probably find Theon who'd been given the very 'honourable' task of escorting the Queen's household to their respective chambers, while Robb's mother would be escorting the Royal Family themselves.

And he would wait in the Great Hall...

Without Theon apparently, since he was nowhere to be seen...

Great...

Although the wait would not be as bad as he thought, as he seated himself on one of the chairs and conversed with the passerbys, whether they be Southron Knights that wanted a brief conversation with the Little Lord or some of the Stark Men, happy to have found a reprieve from all the new responsibilites they had like being more organized than they actually were.

Although his good mood didn't last.

Right as he was about to finally get up and search for Theon himself, (probably searching for a piece of skirt, he had gained a wider array of targets after all) the doors of the Great Hall had opened to reveal one Cedran Baratheon.

The hall had fallen silent, with the southrons bowing to the Prince immediately upon spotting him while the Northeners took their time reacting. The Prince didn't seem to mind them though, heading straight for Robb, whom had gotten up from where he was sitting before the door had opened. He stopped short of an arm's reach from where Robb was, extending a hand after a short moment.

"Robb Stark,"

Robb studied him for a moment, searching his tone for any kind of give away as to his intention, tentatively shaking it, "Your Highness," Pleasentries were hard to swallow when exchanging them with a person that neither returned them, or had done anything to deserve them. The boy in front of him was no different than the stories his father told him if his current behavior was anything to go by.

"I must express my gratitude for the warm reception,"

He was threading on thin water there, the Lannisters were met with nothing but cold, hard startes from the Starks, one would argue the only welcome people on Winterfell were the King and the Stormlander soldiers he'd brought with him, but if he wanted to be snarky, he'd be snarky right back, "The North is known for it's hospitality Your Highness,"

"Quite..." The Prince said, a knowing smile upon his lips, "Your family should come South sometime, who would we be to not repay this kindness in full?" His voice sounded, off...

He didn't have time to question it, as the Prince just gave him a pat on the back, a quite unwelcome gesture and left the room, trailed by two people he hadn't seen him with before.

Why did he sound like he knew something Robb didn't?

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 **Children...**

 **Anyone is welcome to ask any questions they might have in the reviews below.**


	6. AGOT: Sal II

He could never find it in himself to be fond of feasts...

The music, the merriment, and the activities were much too fancy and challenged his opposal of vanity, being a servent of the gods with simple tastes, and while Northerners had plenty of 'simple' they also had plenty of the three things he'd listed, the noise in the Great Hall was enough to rival the sounds of the whole Red Keep during it's loudest time of the year.

Or he'd just forgetten what real talking felt like...

Either way, he couldn't describe himself as particularly comfortable from his position with all the rowdy young squires, (Thankfully they were avoiding talking to him, experience tended to scare the young) having resigned himself to sit with them to avoid attention from Cedran's mother, (And not having yet been annointed to Knighthood) for the Queen would certainly object to a bastard sitting at the high table, just like Lady Catelyn Stark had objected with her husbands.

His source of knowledge on that little information being the very large wolf that was casually nipping at his feet below the table, clearly having been snuck in, for he had seen six of them in the whole castle, and only one was present, they were clearly the pets of the Stark Children. A direwolf in the hall that was not present in the high-table only one thing in Winterfell...

The boy sitting to the right of him, 'Jon Snow' as he learned his name to be, had the privileges of getting his pet into the Great Hall, and getting drunk, first time from the looks of it. More than what was being permitted to any of the legitemate children on the high table, under strict supervision from their parents to not do anything that would detriment the already unstable balance of the alliance between their families.

Even Arn was sober, which was saying something, although it was probably because Cedran had forced him to be so, rather than his own nonexistant regard of the proud name of House Lannister. The second prince looked to be as bored as he was whenever he was in his lessons, and he was glad that Arn was actually there to keep him distracted from Robb Stark sitting a few seats away from him, the rumours concerning their little talk had already spread throught the castle.

"Why aren't you with them?" A slightly slurred voice brought him out of his thoughts, turning to the side to see the Bastard of Winterfell adressing him directly, "I saw you with the other prince,"

He kept his gaze neutral while calculating Jon Snow, currently wearing all of his emotions on his sleeve because of his drunkness, probably the reason he even asked the question in the first place, because bastards like them were neither needed to be seen or heard, Sal might make a few compromises due to his station but seeing as Jon Snow had Stark blood in his veins, he clearly took those words to heart and made them his duty.

"I'm a bastard, like you." It was a simple answer, one he would not dwell on.

The boys reaction was a curious one though, with the way his eyes widened and the way his body tensed as if he wanted to recoil, but he kept still. He was not drunk enough it seemed, good for him; keeping one's senses even in the most unexpected times was a trait to be admired, but he would refrain from the terminology from now on, testing ones virtues often yielded bad results in situations such as these.

"How are you enjoying the festivities Lord Jon?" His voice had been devoid of it's usual cold neutrality in an effort to goad the boy into speaking further, Sal was getting rather curious and since he had nothing to do but eat and listen he might as well actually participate in a talk.

"Fine," Was the brief answer under the calculative gaze, "How do you like Winterfell... Ser..?" His voice was not devoid of suspicion, perhaps because of the sudden interest in conversation Sal had developed, while could have been handled better, was impossible to rephrase now.

"Salomon Storm, not a knight," He said as he took a bite of his bread, washing it down with some water before answering the question, "As of your previous question, quite well, Lord Stark is a gracious host," The boy nodded, before returning to his drink, looking like he was trying to find something to say that would be suitable, but the allure of the drink was too much to handle it seemed, as he was immediately set upon by younger squires upon finishing his drink, filling his flagon to the brim with more summerwine.

Children...

He just focused on his meal when it was clear the boys attention would not be returning to him any time soon, taking another sip of his water and grabbing another bite of food from his rather plain plate, he'd only taken foods that would keep him sated and stayed away from the wine, he would need his wits about him and being averse to gluttony helped.

Somone who was not averse to gluttony, the King; whom was busy groping the servant women, and gorging himself on food in a frigtening pace. It would be sad to look at, if one didn't need to feel of fleeing as the Queen glared daggers at the whole hall, probably not helped by the fact that her second son was currently focused on speaking (flirting) with a lady who looked to be Lady Sansa's handmaiden.

Because she was sitting right next to her, looking very annoyed.

That could only end badly...

He focused his gaze on Arn, who was busy following in the King's footsteps, already a pitcher of wine in his hand filling a cup that almost looked as it materialized out of thin air. It was amazing what the two boys were capable off when they were not overseen by their mentor, as his gaze slowly turned into a glare, he hoped it would get noticed, since he couldn't exactly go out to table to reprimand them, but it was unlikely.

So he made his choice, and rose to his feet, taking leave from Jon Snow, who absentmindedly gave it, as he talked to a man dressed in black, a Man of the Night's Watch it seemed, he would think about it later...

He sweeped the crumbs on his surcoat before heading into the crowds, making sure to be as blended in as possible so as to not get the attention of the Queen, who would be very cross if she were to see one of her cousins, a _Lannister_ being scolded by a bastard.

Thankfully he reached them before he could be spotted, thanks partially to the smoke of fires. Taking the cup in Arn's hand before he could fill it with another and gestured him to come with. Throwing a look at Cedran, who had paused talking to the girl to look at him and back to his mother, who was thankfully preoccupied with Sansa Stark to pay attention to what his son was doing.

Arn followed with an exasperated sigh as they exited the castle and all its smoke to the cold night outside of the Great Hall, as quickly as their stride allowed. The winds were harsh, but refreshing from all the blinding smoke inside.

Immediately upon their exit Arn spoke, "What is it Sal? Is this one of your lec-"

" _Yes,_ " Sal interrupted, "Although not as you might think,"

"What then? If you're not going to yammer on and on about 'Legacy'"

" _Responsibility,_ "

Arn rolled his eyes, "Cedran was fine,"

"You know how he is," Sal reminded.

Arn retorted, "You know how we are,"

"That doesen't make it right,"

Arn snorted, "Pray tell, what is right?"

"Not a scandal, which is what Cedran would do if you leave him to his devices in such conditions," _Boredom_ would prove to be the greatest folly of the Baratheons in this pace.

Arn couldn't come up with an arguement, "I'm sure he was just talking," He said lamely.

"Arn,"

"You are speaking to a Lannister, Sal," His voice was a growl.

What came after was a suprise to them both.

"One of the greatest houses in Westeros," A voice dripping with sarcasm to their right brought them out of their arguement, turning to see Tyrion Lannister standing a few feet distance away from them, looking to be listening intently.

"Lord Tyrion," Sal bowed, "Forgive me, I didn't see you coming,"

"It is commonplace," The Imp joked, "Cousin," He nodded to Arn,

"Cousin," Arn said back, his voice neutral.

"May we speak a few words alone? It won't take long," Arn nodded.

He took that as a dismissal, and stayed his ground as Arn left behind Tyrion, the conversation was relatively short, and Arn was heading back to him in record time. His features schooled enough that he couldn't read them...

Sal turned and headed into the hall when Arn passed by him, praying that whatever Lord Tyrion had said would inject some sense into the boy.

As he made to enter behind Arn, he almost lost his balance when a familiar face passed him by without paying any heed.

Jon Snow was in a hurry it seemed.

Children...

* * *

 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	7. AGOT: Cedran II

Winterfell had been a pretty sight at first...

It had been a day since their arrival and the banquet the same night, the sun was still behind the grey clouds in another grey morning and the dying fire in the fireplace barely kept out the accursed cold that just wouldn't leave him alone during this entire trip North. He lay in his bed, bored out of his mind as he lazied about, hoping to pass a day that just wouldn't...

Winterfell had been a pretty sight at first, until he'd realized there was nothing to pass his day with...

The little conversation he had with Robb Stark had sparked a lot of gossip it seemed, one of the reasons why he was still in his room instead of out there doing something to relieve his boredom. Letting Robb Stark deal with whispers of a rivalry between the second Prince and the Little Lord of Winterfell, he could do without it all, his only regret was listening to Arn about Sal's orders when he almost had the Poole girl enamoured with him...

Speaking of gossip, he couldn't fathom how overly blown out of proportion it was. Even his mother had barged into his room before dawn and woken him so she could berate _him_ about how his father had berated _her_ on his behavior towards the son of his 'brother in all but blood' which was something to behold. He'd had to explain to her that there wasn't actually anything, not even a hint of a rivalry between them, wasn't his fault that Stark kept jumping to the baiting he'd done, the boy hung unto every word like it was an insult, it was easy. Certainly wasn't anything to doubt his certain well-intentions over.

But now he couldn't do any of the teasing, because politics.

Did people really see him as a Lannister?

Because he was sure the only reason his Mother had decided to get involved with this was the same reason that had her so on edge during the trip and feast, basically the entire time they were in the North. The hostility between the Lannister and the Stark families were known all over the Seven Kingdoms, with the only thing keeping the peace between the two being Queen's marriage to the King.

Although, if one looked at it fairly, the conflict between the Lannisters and the Starks really wasn't all that suprising, Cedran was sure there was bad blood between the families before his grandfather Tywin Lannister decided to kill two little children and his uncle Jaime Lannister had decided to kill the Mad King, there was far too many reasons people had to despise the Lannisters, like sackings, beheadings, Reyne's and other charming things his grandfather wanted as his legacy.

He chuckled at that, and got off his bed, streching with a customary yawn before looking out the window and realizing the sun wasn't even halfway up on the sky, which got a silent groan out of him and snuffed any previous amusement. He looked at his bed again, woefully empty because once again, he'd decided to do right by his mentor and leave the Poole girl alone, much to both of their dismay, and his mother's satisfaction, if she knew that is, but he needed a muse, because being on bed the whole day while the sun refused to move would drive him to madness before tomorrow's hunt.

He resignedly put on a plain black doublet and some trousers, before pulling on a cloak and heading for door, it would be way easier to pass the time outside and find Arn, and if he had to endure whispers behind his back, so be it...

* * *

After a visit the Great Hall where the Banquet was held the past day, and learning Arn was in the yard from a Sal that was reading a book Cedran hadn't bothered to learn the name of, he made his way over there, mostly free of whispers aside from the usual Highborn Lady that was fluttering their eyelashes at him shyly while gushing to their servants about how handsome he was.

He was thankful for that, if not a little bit perplexed, where was all the gossipers from yesterday?

He put that concern aside for now, it was the middle of the day, the servants who were the main gossipmongers in any hold would be fast at work during these hours, so it was normal, the only thing he needed to worry about right now was Arn's current company, because he wasn't sure he would be able to tolerate Winterfell without Arn, whom was off living the pleasures Arn was forbidden from.

He rounded the corner with those thoughts, pushing the doors he came across to leave the Hall and step out into the Courtyard, immediately gripped by the cold that he'd so carefully avoided until now, although upon seeing the first sight he was met with when he swung open those doors, the cold was the least important thing on his priority list.

It was Joffrey, and Robb Stark, locked in a fierce combat.

With wooden swords...

And from the looks of it, it couldn't even be called 'combat', more like 'slaughter' because Robb Stark was a talented swordsman, while Cedran doubted Joffrey could even be called the latter syllable. Cedran was certain he'd barely remembered the basics of sword-fighting Ser Barristan was so adamant in teaching them about, he wasn't one for physical confrontation, although he wouldn't doubt his mediocrity with a crossbow.

Aside from the odds of a fight between the two being completely against Joffrey's favor, he could see everytime Robb Stark's wooden sword made contact with Joffrey's flesh, it was at a wince-inducing way, would certainly leave bruises if done too many times, and that gave him an idea...

Mother certainly wouldn't mind him relieving his boredom on Robb Stark if it stopped him from beating 'Precious Cub Joff' to a senseless bloody pulp...

What he meant by that was 'Brotherly Concern'

He slowly moved toward them, finally leaving the bloody doorway he'd been standing in for over a minute as he'd slowly took all of that information in. The position had given him a good vantage point to watch the events, but he doubted it would make it easier to get to Robb Stark for his own amusement. By that he meant save his beloved older brother who was in dire need of a salvation from a Brute.

The crowd parted before him as soon as they realized it was him, and after sharing hushed whispers with the stocky man that was the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, the fight was stopped. The two participants immediately glaring at him upon noticing it was him.

Expected from both...

He moved up to them, feeling the weight of the gazes everyone in the yard had trained on him as he came up to them, both panting and sweaty, it was going to be so easy that he almost felt bad for doing it.

But he did it anyway, because he was bored.

His gaze landed on Joffrey, a light of impish amusement twinkling upon them, "Brother, I thought you saw yourself above such things,"

Joffrey flushed, "I-I was teaching Stark how it was done!" That was going to be the story he was going to tell everyone from now on, their mother would surely believe, their father would praise until he heard the correct story from 'Ned' which he would trust over his own son, sickening really...

Robb Stark made to interrupt, but he cut him off, "Were you teaching him how to get hit properly?" He could feel the smugness from the Little Stark Lord, he was going to have fun baiting it out of him, "You are going to be King brother," That was the greatest joke the Gods could ever play, "Kings are supposed to be smart," What he was trying to say bordered on the opposite.

"You can't ta-"

"You don't want to make me tell mother about this don't you?" That shut out any reply from him real good, even Joffrey wasn't immune to their Mother's lectures, if anything, he was more susceptible to them more than any of the three Royal Children...

He watched as the Crown Prince stormed off to the library, his Dog following to catch up...

"Fancy a spar, your highness?" Stark grinned, twirling the sword in his hand as tension in the yard densed.

Cedran just yawned, "You are certainly tenacious Stark,"

"You're the one to say that,"

"Suprised you even know the meaning of it," He murmured lowly in a voice he couldn't hear, before saying loudly, "I imagined it didn't take that much goading to get my brother to fight you?"

"He practically jumped at my sword,"

He raised a brow, "Wooden sword, Stark." He chuckled, "One must wonder the source of those thoughts,"

"That is not what I meant _your highness_ ," He practically spat the pleasentry,

Northmen...

"Even then, I must decline your offer, I don't fancy playing games," With that he turned and left, leaving behind a fuming Robb Stark and a bunch more material for the gossipmongers to massively blow out of proportion.

He wanted to take the offer, but he knew to not get into fights he couldn't win, as much as he mocked Joffrey for his lack of sword-mastery, he couldn't even call himself an Adept, he was much better with a Lance, (Ladies agreed,) and much better on Horseback. As much as he loathe to admit, Robb Stark would do what he did to Joffrey to Cedran, if he was stupid enough to take him up on the offer.

But he thankfully wasn't, and speaking of being thankful, the little ones, Tommen and Brandon Stark had started to fight, drawing the attention of the crowd away from the leaving Prince, triumphantly entertained.

Cedran spotted Arn sitting some distance away from the Lannister Soldiers, waving to him, offering him his wineskin when the Prince approached him, which Cedran took thankfully and drank, relishing the taste of the summerwine before handing it to his friend,

"I was enjoying that..." The Lannister spoke, his tone still carrying amusement as he took a gulp from his wineskin.

Cedran sighed, sitting on one of the crates next to the one Arn was sitting on, "So was I, but baiting Robb Stark without backlash is better,"

"You seem to think so,"

"I _know_ so,"

"Arsehole,"

Cedran laughed at that, "You seem to be in better spirits,"

Arn grinned, and toasted with the Wineskin, only for the source of his 'better spirits' to be ripped away by the Prince who snatched the 'skin from his hands to take another sip, much less than the ones he took, he reached over and snatched it back.

"What can I say? I am better company drunk," He finished the wine off, groaning in dissapointment as he did, prompting Cedran to chuckle at his friends' antics.

As time passed, Cedran's enjoyment grew, a little bit of familiarity in this desolate place was all he needed apparently...

* * *

 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	8. AGOT: The Exiled Princess

Daenerys sighed wistfully as she observed the... wedding festivities below her.

The Dothraki certainly lacked the inhibitions that had been set by other cultures, one would even go further as to say they were like this to spite it all... Or they were just different, different enough that, at a glance you wouldn't understand them, then you would look into it with more detail and realize they were just _different,_ and start like them more.

But she didn't want to do that...

She wanted to go home, the place Viserys always told her about. With towers of stone touching the sky, castles with walls so high that they dwarfed the petty walls of the Free Cities, tales of chivalrous Knights riding in tourneys for honor and love, she wanted to see the place she was born, she wanted to see the Iron Throne, she wanted, _home._

And as she looked below, from the 'pavilion' (if it could even be called that,) she was sitting next to Khal Drogo, _her husband_. She realized once again, even if what Viserys said was true, even if this army of forty-thousand Dothraki crossed the Narrow Sea to wage war against the Usurper and his Traitor Lords, it would never be like what he described.

But she kept quiet, and looked straight ahead all the same, for she was afraid of what Viserys would do if she disobeyed his insturctions without realizing it. Her beautiful face frozen in an expression of indifference. Despite her wanting to bawl her eyes out because this all felt like a horrible nightmare she was having and couldn't get out of.

She was thankfully driven out of her unwelcome thoughts as a shouting below caught her attention, her mood immediately darkening yet again, people were fighting, apparently encouraged in Dothraki Weddings, another thing she despised, this unnecessary violence that resulted in careless bloodshed, and Viserys wanted _this_ army to go to Westeros? She couldn't imagine what would happen.

She couldn't help but realize the difference in one of the combatants. Definetly not one of the Dothraki, with his light skin tone, clean-shaven face, short black hair peppered with white spots, and red robes. Going against an angered Dothrak, who was attacking him relentlessly, making him back away constantly, he didn't seem worried though, just thoughtful.

She didn't know what they were fightning for, but judging by the screams the Dothrak warrior, and the people around him cheering with every blow of the _Arakh_ , it was not a personal vendetta the Mysterious Man was dealing with.

She gasped as the Dothraki caught the Man's longsword with the _Arakh_ 's hook, only to lose the grip on his own weapon as a fist connected with his head, sending the lithe man reeling back from the force, not giving him the time to recover, the man drew a dagger and slammed it into the stunned Dothraki warrior's heart, killing him instantly.

She watched with a horrified gaze as the man casually removed his dagger, muttering something under his breath as he cleaned the bloody knife with the rags that the dead Dothraki bore while he ignored the insults from the other Dothraki, simply grabbing his sword from where it lay and sheating it.

As he completed this routine, his eyes barely rose to look over to where she was sitting, and lilac met with grey.

She averted her gaze.

* * *

Some hours, and many more killings later, the gifts started to come in, and Dany received them below Khal Drogo. She knew time was rapidly approaching for the consummation of the marriage, she dreaded that, trying and failing to focus on her gifts to forget what was going to happen.

From Viserys (Illyrio) were three handmaids, although slaves would be better words for it, two Dothraki girls, one to teach the Dothraki tongue, the other to teach riding, and one Lysene girl, to teach 'the womanly arts of love.' All the things she would need to make the Khal happy, provided to her in a way she would be forced to accept.

From Jorah Mormont, the Exiled Knight that had offered his sword to Viserys in hopes of getting himself a passage home when they eventually returned to re-conquer their home. He'd brought her books, books of the Seven Kingdoms, of its histories and songs, she took them gratefully and thanked the Knight as sincerely as she could, for she was grateful.

Then Magister Illyrio Mopatis came, the man that had offered them his hospitality, gesturing for his slaves, making them drag a huge chest in front of her, making her gasp in wonder when she opened it, finding three huge eggs inside, one with shimmering brown, one with gold-streaked silver, one with ripplling black. Illyrio told her they were Dragon Eggs, and she swore to treasure them always, for they were the most beautiful thing she'd seen...

Then came the Bloodriders, gifting her weapons, which she was taught to refuse and present to her husband, and after that, came a supply of gifts from the other Dothraki, bit by bit the line progressed as they presented her with countless types of gifts she just couldn't say no to, jewelry, clothing, bottles, glasses, slippers and perfumes.

Then he came back.

"For you, Princess," He spoke the Common Tongue with a smooth voice, kneeling before her, she heard maligning whispers from the Dothraki as the Mysterious Man from before offered her his gift. A red cloak without any sigil, emblezoned with hundreds of jewelry that shone so brightly that they hurt her eyes, "A gift to honor the _Fire_ ," She took the gift, noting his Westerosi accent.

"Thank you, Ser," She said, curious than ever, "May I have your name?"

"Perceval, Your Grace," He introduced himself, bowing his head, "And I'm not a knight, merely a humble servant,"

She couldn't help but ask, "Why a cloak?"

He smiled, his grey eyes gleaming, "You'll need it to guide you of course,"

"To where?"

"You shall see," He said, "But be careful of the road Princess, for the night is dark, and full of terrors," His smile never left his face as he rose to his feet, bowing to the Khal who didn't even acknowledge him, "We shall meet again," He said, and left without saying another word, she was too dumbfounded by the words he'd uttered.

She looked at Viserys, who looked to be fixated on Khal Drogo to notice what happend, then turned her gaze to a baffled Illyrio as more and more gifts streamed in without her seeing or caring.

But then Khal Drogo brought her a horse, and she forgot all about the strange Red-man and his gift.

* * *

 **A sign of things to come...**

 **Anyone is welcome to ask any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	9. AGOT: Arn II

They were leaving.

Finally...

Not that it was ever that simple, after the hunt that happened weeks ago, the Hunting Party had returned only to find bad news all around, as Lord Stark's youngest son Brandon, had fallen from the Broken Tower while climbing, which had extended their stay in Winterfell. All the while causing an endless cycle of rumors about Eddard Stark's position.

Arn didn't care though.

The only thing on his mind right now was-

 _Thunk!_

That.

He smirked as the arrow plunged into the bullseye, just a sliver away from hitting a previous one he'd fired. Lowering his bow and setting it aside as he reached for the wineskin hanging on the little pole right next to him, smacking his lips with delight as the delicious taste of the summerwine invaded his senses, before capping the skin off and hanging it back.

He was currently at the courtyard of Winterfell, where he'd been allowed to practice his archery for the duration of their stay. The dawn sky was quickly leaving, signaling their final hours in Winterfell. Lord Stark's decision was final it seemed, he would be leaving his still sleeping son behind while he headed down South, a difficult choice to make surely...

He left that thought where it was, absent-mindedly twirling one of his arrows in his hand. Instead focusing on the previous thought, they were finally leaving Winterfell behind, a visit that lacked excitement, especially in the latter parts, seeing as it was just them waiting for an advancement on Brandon Stark's condition and it would look bad if anyone went on to do something that could relieve boredom.

At least he could still practice.

He looked around the courtyard, noticeably devoid of any highborn, whom would be having their supper at this hour. Soldiers chattering amongst each other as they drank and ate. He noted there was significantly more Stark and Baratheon soldiers interacting than Lannisters, who would certainly be at the Barracks assigned to them.

Thankfully, he'd already taken some things to eat from the servants when he'd awoken, not wanting to endure the Queen and the Kingslayer at such an ungodly hour in the morning, he may have joined if the King was there, but the man had taken to consoling his friend. Cedran would surely understand, he was quite aware of his mother's tendencies when it came to his sons companions.

It's why Sal had to be treated as he was, despite his station indicating he could give orders that had to be followed to both of them, courtesy of the recently dead, Jon Arryn. He was relatively sure Sal would be happier in a Sept than he could ever be trying to teach two kids who just wouldn't listen.

He'd gone to him as well, finding him in his usual spot, reading a book while eating his supper. They talked briefly, mostly about why he was not with Cedran, after that he'd quickly taken his leave, the look on his face meant readings, and that would bore him more than what he'd endured in this month in Winterfell combined, no offense to Sal.

See: His previous point.

He contemplated if he should fire another batch of arrows, and decided in favour of it, approaching the target and removing his arrows carefully before returning to his previous position.

He grabbed his bow again, a deadly weapon as tall as he, made from Weirwood and fitted with Dacron strings. A gift from his brother for his 13th name-day, all special materials that became one by a skilled master of his craft. A gift he was grateful for, for it had sparked his greatest passion, a passion that hadn't died out in over 3 years.

He knocked the arrow, and looked at his target, before raising the bow and aiming.

He took a deep breath, and focused, before drawing the bow with his back muscles, as far as it could go.

He relaxed, noting how the wind changed before adjusting his aim.

He let a smirk envelop his face as his hand released the sho-

" ** _Arn,_** "

He flinched at his name being whispered right into his ear, and his entire aim was knocked off it's course, as the released arrow flew over the wall and dissapeared when his flinching affected the arrows entire trajectory.

His eye twitched in annoyance, and he had to take a deep breath to not let the laughter coming from the soldiers affect him.

He turned around, leveling a subtle glare at the one responsible.

Cedran, his so called friend, currently chucking at him under his breath, an amused light in his lightning-blue eyes as Arn's glare intensified.

"Cedran," He growled.

"Arn," He repeated with an amused tone.

"You're lucky you're the Prince,"

His smile didn't budge, "I know,"

Arn growled again, ripping the wineskin off from the pillar and downing it all, relaxing slightly. He let the silence envelop them as he looked at where the arrow went, before realizing it was futile to go after it. He sighed and looked and Cedran again, who'd lost his insufferable smile in favour of a thoughtful expression, looking at his bow.

He raised a brow, "Something bothering you?"

"Uncle Tyrion,"

That made Arn pause, "What about him?"

"Told me he was going to the Wall, guarded by only two,"

The problem in that was clear as day, everyone knew of the current position of the Night's Watch, (Even if they didn't care) and how Wildlings raided around the Last Hearth, not to mention the stray group of bandits that could want a highborn prisoner to ransom to their House, a small group like that would attract attention in the worst ways.

He looked at the Prince, "What do you plan to do about it?"

His gaze turned to him, "Send you with him,"

His eyes widened, "What?!"

"You think I'm going to trust my uncle to be protected by the Starks?"

"So you send another one?"

"You don't count,"

He raised a brow with a frown, "I wonder if I should be offended by that?"

"What?" He realized what he'd said, "I didn't mean it like that, you know that,"

"What did you mean then?"

"I mean," He pressed, "That I would trust only you to protect my Uncle, you think Grandfather would bother with Tyrion?"

Arn wasn't going to relent that easiliy, "You think anyone would bother with me?"

"Daven,"

"You presume for my brother," He spat.

"Do I presume? Or do you care more for family than you let on?" That made him freeze, an incredilious look on his face leveled at Cedran, an expectant look on the Prince's face. He broke the eye contact immediately, reaching for his wineskin and holding it to his mouth, groaning when he found it empty, before lowering it and glaring at the source of his anger.

"You're an arsehole, did you know that?

"Thank you my friend," Cedran said with a smile, causing him to scoff.

"You owe me," He said, holding a finger up to his face.

"Don't I know it..."

* * *

 **Everyone is welcome to post any question they might have in the reviews below.**


	10. AGOT: Sal III

As the weeks progressed, and the Royal Procession along with it's new addition made it's way through to warmer lands, the difference between the North and the South was layed bare once more...

The sun became warmer, beckoning them further south with it's warm embrace. The grass became greener, and the clouds retreated. Prey became common, as the King so boisterously and repeatedly exclaimed. The Northeners started looking like lost pups searching for their mother, and the Southerners had regained their joyful colours back and celebrated accordingly along with their King.

They had stopped at an inn, a local favorite it seemed, only a day's ride away from the nearest castle, Darry. The King and his new Hand had left for another hunt, while the Procession rested before they would finally cross the Trident and ride for King's Landing uninterrupted.

His mood was in an upswing as well. For he had been fortunate enough to scan through Winterfell's library, and increase his wisdom through books he hadn't seen before. While he wouldn't dare to say that the extended stay as a result of Brandon Stark's fall was a good thing, he would say it helped, no matter how much it disgusted him to admit, Seven forgive.

Just as well, another thing that helped was not having to constantly look after Cedran and Arn. Even if the latter continued his blasphemous and ignoble activities, he'd abandoned the whoring entirely after the affermentioned fall, while that may only be because of 'self-image' that made a man wonder why he hadn't stopped his excessive drinking.

He hadn't even seen Cedran all that often, boring the boy to death had been Winterfell's most suprising achievment.

Although now that they had come South, Sal could see something shift within the Second Son. Whenever he wasn't with him, he would often spot him with the Baratheon men, and by extension his Uncle, Renly Baratheon; thirdborn son that had profited from his older brother Stannis' misfortune and ascended to the seat of Storm's End. They would laugh and drink together, and most interesting of all was their hushed whispers...

They were scheming.

It was not unkown to him, this constant game of whispers. The years he'd spent in King's Landing had taught him there were eyes everywhere, your every move was reported to somone, and you had to be careful to not get them set on you. Those eyes reported to the gamemasters, and those gamemasters shared those whispers in the right moments to further their gains.

He was not upset to have been left out of them, whatever games they were playing he wasn't interested. Seven willing, he'd be able to fulfill his duties to his wards and see them to adulthood before being sent on his way. Not looking after his shoulders everytime somone passed by him and losing sleep over all of this danger he'd been subjected over the years.

He was content to do what he was doing now, strolling through the woods, the sound of the Trident in his hears and with only the company of his thoughts. Often he would feel like the most dignified company he had was them, and often he would feel most comfortable under the sun's comforting gaze, Seven watching over him as he graciously benefited from all of their gifts. It's what kept him going over the years when he would find himself without a purpose.

One would feel the need to question why one would need to have a purpose to keep going at all, he'd weigh it on how his life had been leading up to this point, it had not been easy to get where he was, he'd only done it through sheer devotion.

He stopped beside a tree, putting his hand on it's rough surface as he contemplated. His gaze went up and down the bark, making out that it was an elm. The tree's leaves shined with sun's light, and made it seem like it was dwarfing it's own kin and gave it a divine look, a wonder of the-

"-you little cunt!"

His head whipped around at the direction of the yell, barely audible over all of the noise coming from the flowing river. He immediately recognized it to be the voice of the Crown Prince, his hand moved to unstrap the mace hanging from his hip as his feet carried him to the direction the sound came in a sprint. He'd automatically assumed the worst, what could have happened to get Prince Joffrey to shout?

He ducked through the branches and avoided the roots on the ground as he hastily ran to the source of the sound, the sound of the river filling his ears cut by a painful shout. He burst through the treeline and almost found himself on the waters, but was able to stop himself in time.

He found the Prince laying on the ground, clutching a bloody hand with Sansa Stark kneeling before him trying to help. The girl leapt to her feet upon spotting him, eyes widening as she spotted the weapon in her hand and she flinched, he quickly strapped it back on his belt and knelt beside Prince Joffrey.

"My Prince, you need a Measter," He held his hand out for the Prince to take.

The Prince looked at him with tears staining his face, took his hand with the fine one and was promptly lifted to his feet, an arm around Sal's shoulder as the Bastard turned to the terrified Stark girl, "My Lady, what happened here?"

"Arya... She was- fooling around with that Butcher's Boy," Her voice was trembling, and it looked like she was barely holding back the tears. He must have terrified the girl when he burst through the forest.

"She made her mutt attack me!" The Prince shouted in his ear, it took nearly all of his willpower not to react, "I want her found! I want her dead!" The Stark girl flinched, it looked as though she may cry at any minute, he needed to solve this, quickly.

"Lady Stark, can you inform the camp of what happened here? I'd rather not make the Prince wait," His voice was soothing, aiming to calm the girl, who nodded and shakily steadied herself on her feet, leaving the waterskin she was holding on the ground and forgetten as she turned around and ran to the direction of the camp, while he trailed behind, much slower and with a prince screaming into his ear about decapitation.

* * *

Stumbling into the camp with the bloodied Crown Prince leaning onto him was not the best way to stay out of the eye of the Queen...

Sal thought this as he stood before King Robert and Queen Cersei in the Great Hall of Castle Darry, moments after the Stark girl who had caused all the trouble had been found. Everyone of the nobles that were traveling with them were present, and everyone's eyes were focused on the said Stark girl. The poor girl had been hiding for almost the whole day, and when she was found by the Stark men, all covered in tears and filth, she'd been forced to stand before the King and Queen without any moment of relief.

As for him, he was 'asked' to be here to tell everything he had seen. Which was not a lot mind you, all he had known of the ordeal was what Lady Sansa and the Crown Prince had told him, and they were either in shock or injured. Which had the tendency to be quite the effect on one's judgement, and there would be conflicting point of views.

Cedran had been livid of his involvement in the altercation, yet he had displayed a somewhat concerning lack of reaction to learning his brothers injuries. He'd discarded it as 'trivial' and had immediately taken him out of the hunt for the missing Stark girl to make a plan.

 _"My father will surely ask for your testimony, if you want to remain at my side you'll need to speak in favour of my mother. No matter what you may have seen,"_

 _"I have seen nothing, just heard."_

 _"Then lie,"_

 _"Lying is ag-"_

 _"Fuck your faith, you are needed at my side,"_

 _"My Prince-"_

 _"This is an order Salomon, you are to speak in favour of the Queen and support my brothers side, if not my mother would surely have you killed. On my head be the consuqences,"_

 _"Are you sure of this Cedran?"_

 _"Some of us don't believe as you do,"_

And that had been the end of it, part of him had been disgusted at himself when he'd just resigned himself to do it, but it was an order he couldn't refuse. Particularly because his duty has not yet been completed, the Prince still had a long way to go. He would have to repent, but in the end wasn't that what all of them would do?

"Bastard!" He heard the King's voice, "Joffrey says you've seen what happened, speak up! Tell me what you have seen!" It was obvious the King was stuck between his friend and his most valuable ally in the Queen's family. He stepped forward and bowed before the King, his gaze briefly wandering to the Queen only to see her full attention focused on him.

So much for subtlety, again.

Sal opened his mouth to speak, but the words came hard, stuck in his throat before he had o force them out, "I heard a wolf and a scream, Your Grace, and when I ran to find what it was, I saw the Prince bleeding."He closed his ears to all the mutterings that caused, but there was one among them that o one would be able to ignore...

"You're lying!" The Lİttle Stark that had caused all this trouble shouted, she may have been right, but no one would care.

"Silence!" The King roared, and it was once again so, "Childeren fight, _but that damned wolf_ ,"

One of the Stark Guardsmen stepped forward, "We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace."

"No?" The King looked somewhat relieved, "So be it,"

The Queen was not pleased however, "A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!"

"A costly pelt," King Robert said, he looked non too pleased and non too caring... "I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold."

"I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down."

"That would be a fine trick, without a wolf."

 _"We have a wolf,"_

A pause. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it."

As the voices once again rose, Sal could only be shocked at how easy it was...

* * *

 **Sorry for the late update, my keyboard was broken and I had to buy a new one.**

 **Anyone is welcome to leave any question they might have in the reviews below.**


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